


Black as the pit, Terrible as the night

by aexhalted



Series: carmilla reincarnation au [1]
Category: Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: < 500 words, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Short One Shot, can you tell, short fic, so i get claustrophobia, trigger for trichotillomania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aexhalted/pseuds/aexhalted
Summary: "to be sealed in a coffin of blood so I may waste away my long centuries in the dark"Carmilla wakes up





	Black as the pit, Terrible as the night

**Author's Note:**

> this is stylistically more at home in the early days of lj, but here we are. I'm stuck in the middle of a 6000 word carmilla reincarnation au/rewrite and needed to get the angst out of me. I hope to rework this at a later date, but for now; onwards -
> 
> trigger warning for trichotillomania.

It was cold. 

It was dark, and it was cold, and Mircalla couldn’t breathe in. 

She exhaled. 

She inhaled, and felt warm, clumpy, viscous fluid fill her lungs, the taste of acrid copper splashed over her tongue. She felt her throat open and gulped down great swallows of old, watery blood, feeling something sharp and familiar curl underneath her skin. 

Mircalla only stopped drinking when her mouth broke the surface, tasting stale air. 

There was enough space for her eyes, now, surely.

Pushing one arm under the small of her back, she braced her shoulders for impact, and hit her head on a thick, mottled ceiling. Reaching out with her free hand, she traced her fingers along the grains of the wooden planks above her, wishing she could see it.

She let her hand fall back into the pool of blood, feeling the watery surface break around her fingers, and clenching her hands around the dried clumps at the bottom of the wooden prison.

Mircalla brought her hand back up and rubbed her eyes, feeling clumpy, crusty lashes fall away, and blinked her vision back.

Sight did not come.

Knowing she couldn't keep the angle without the support of her second hand, Mircalla rubbed furiously at her eyes. She pulled off each of her lashes, methodically, rationally, feeling them flutter down into the blood around her. 

She opened her eyes.

She could not see.

Mircalla brought her hand to her face, and screwed up her eyes until trails of pain covered the top half of her face.

Clumped, ragged, wet fingers were her reward for her time. She could see the silhouette in the the darkness. 

She eked out her exploration of the wooden box, trailing her fingers over each swirl of wood and each rusted, crusted nail point she found. 

She kept her eyes open until sleep stung them closed; wishing, waiting, for a glint of light in the full and heavy darkness.


End file.
